


post meridian

by reona32



Series: The Bowman and the Elvenking [4]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Movie 3: The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies, The Hobbit - Freeform, the afternoon and evening of the day after the battle, the battle of the five armies, the day after the battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:53:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25937719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reona32/pseuds/reona32
Summary: post meridian: occurring after noon ; of or relating to the afternoonThe afternoon and evening hours of the day after the battle.
Relationships: Bard the Bowman/Thranduil
Series: The Bowman and the Elvenking [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1738627
Kudos: 30





	post meridian

**Author's Note:**

> We pick up right after Thranduil has his fit and Bard is sitting with the sleeping Elvenking, trying to soothe him. Not a lot of Thranduil in this one. I promise he's in the next more.
> 
> I have, at least, three more ideas after this. So I will keep plodding along.

Percy found Bard in the Elvenking's tent several hours into the afternoon. He'd been looking for the daft man since about lunch time, when he'd found the bowman's tent empty. Some elven soldier overheard Percy asking another for the whereabouts of Bard and told him he'd seen him enter King Thranduil's tent an hour or two ago. The two elven guards had barred his way but Bard had emerged from the tent at his call. “Percy, what news?” Bard asked, snapping the tent flap closed behind him before Percy could even get a glimpse into the dim interior.

“Well, first of all, Otto apparently went out on patrol last night while drunk and fell over a balcony,” Percy reported, allowing Bard to lead him away from the tent.

Bard winced. “Of course he did. Was he much hurt?”

“Gibson, Osgar, and the elves with them brought him to the medical tent. Broken leg. Una wouldn't let the two elven healers there heal his leg, just set it and bind it. She said the idiot could heal the normal way.”

Bard snorted. “A fitting punishment. What else?” Turned out, 'what else' were a couple of small goblins hiding in some ruins on the east side of Dale, thankfully easily dispatched by the patrol that had come upon them. Bard sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “I don't want anyone going about by themselves, Percy. We don't know what's hiding in the corners of the city and I'm afraid some poor sod will stumble across an orc or warg hiding in some hole. Let people know to stay near the populated areas. When we search the city for supplies, it is to be done in armed groups only.”

Percy was nodding in agreement. “Celeron has told me they've made the last trip to Lake-town that they dare to make this morning. The rest of the structure is too unstable. They've brought what they can. It's mostly household items.”

They'd arrived at the great hall. The noise of many people rose around them, most of the inhabitants of Dale clustered here. A roaring fire burned in the huge fireplace on the far wall of the hall and people clustered around it. Several small children sat by the warmth, settled at the feet of their mothers. The women had various tasks to hand, sewing and mending what they could. Rags and scraps were sewn together into ugly but serviceable blankets. A large pile of clothing, rescued from Lake-town by the elves, was being picked through. Each piece was evaluated for soundness and either put aside for mending or for cleaning. “That helps with clothing for over the winter,” commented Bard. They would at least not be wearing the clothing on their backs into rags for lack of anything else to put on. Thin wisps of fragrant smoke drifted from little metal pots around the great hall.

There were other things stacked up in the hall. Bard recognized portraits from other people's families, lamps with colored glass shades, crockery and silverware that would have been the 'good china' for the people of Lake-town. There were chairs and tables, beds and wardrobes, and other furniture that had been too big to even think of moving off Lake-town when they were fleeing and didn't even know if they would have shelter again. “I wonder how they got the furniture here,” Bard muttered.

Percy shrugged. “Magic?” he replied, sounding doubtful.

“Boats.” They turned to find Celeron behind them, amusement on his fine-boned face. “We used boats to transport the items across the water and then carts and horses to haul them to Dale,” the elf explained.

Bard felt his face go red in embarrassment. “Thank you so much for your help again. I doubt we could have recovered so much ourselves.”

Celeron gave him a slight nod. “You are most welcome. I was sent to inform you Mistress Hilda and Miss Imogene would like a word, if you have a moment to spare?”

Percy barked out a laugh. “Hilda sent you!” he exclaimed. “That would be just like her.”

Celeron smiled. “It did seem wise to do as she ordered,” he admitted.

“I bet! Good lad.”

“Again, Master Percy, I am not a lad. I am a great many years older than you.” Percy laughed again and Bard felt a grin tugging at his own mouth.

“Let's go see what Hilda and Imogene want,” Bard said. What Hilda and Imogene, a middle aged woman with dark blond hair and a narrow face that was a relation of Hilda's if you didn't think about it too hard, wanted was to report food being stolen. The elves that helped with the food said that a bag of grain and a bag of root vegetables had been stolen from the stores kept in a mostly standing building behind the food tent. Since there was not going to be any more supplies for at least another two days, that missing food was serious business.

“Vermin?” suggested Percy.

Bard hesitated. As much as he didn't want to think that someone was stealing food out of their fellow's mouths during such a desperate time, he knew it wasn't so far fetched. He remembered Alfrid and his bosoms of gold coins. “Two whole bags?” he protested. There were mice in the city, they'd found, but they weren't enough to eat so much so quickly. “No,” Bard said with a sigh, “it's been taken.”

Percy cursed and looked expectantly at Bard. The bowman realized everyone, elf and man alike, was looking expectantly at him. They looked at him expectantly because they had all but forced the role of Lord of Dale on the poor man and Bard swallowed down panic. He wanted to run to the Elvenking, let Thranduil deal with it, but the elf was still asleep and would be for some time and, besides, it wasn't his responsibility to oversee all of Dale. “Ok, ok, ok,” huffed Bard, trying to buy himself a second to get his chaotic thoughts in order. He should be able to think about what to do.

What they did was search the ruins for the bags. They were found, stashed in a building on the south side of the city. Mice had gotten to the bag of grain. A corner of the bag was nibbled away and the little beasts were feasting before the patrol that found it shooed them away. Bard was angry and disappointed; angry that someone would steal food when they had so little and disappointed there was someone in the city that they couldn't trust. He ordered a guard put on the food stores, one elf and one Man, at all times. There was little hope of figuring out who had stolen the food but Bard knew the people had heard about what was happening and were just as angry about it as he was. He went to the great hall.

Everyone turned to stare at him as Bard entered the hall. He swallowed, wanting to scamper off and leave this whole business to someone else, but he forced himself to step forward. “Look, I'm sure you've all heard that someone stole some food,” he started. The crowd gibbered in distress. “It's ok. It's OK! We found the food and brought it back to the stores.”

“And the thief?” someone yelled.

Bard sighed. “We don't know and...” The sound of protests swelled and Bard raised his voice over them. “And I'm not willing to go around pointing fingers without proof and I don't want any of you to do the bloody same!”

“Are we going to starve?”

“What? No! We are not going to starve. More supplies are coming from Mir, errr, Greenwood. We will not starve.” Bard said, as if saying it twice would banish the specter of slow death by starvation.

“How do you know? Can we really rely on the elves?” a man shouted. Bard gritted his teeth. The man was one of the Master's old cronies, as conniving and grasping as the greedy bastard had ever been.

“That's not fair, Warwick!” Una yelled, jumping up from where she was resting by the fire. “Is your memory so short that you can't remember the Elvenking using his own magic to heal your wounds? You'd be languishing in the medical tents with a gaping chest wound still if it wasn't for those elves.”

“The elves are our friends and allies,” Bard said sternly. “I trust them and we don't exactly have a lot of friends to be turning any away.” The crowd shifted, unsettled and subdued. Time to change the subject, Bard knew, and get them talking and thinking about something else. “Winter is almost upon us and we need to shore up as many buildings in Dale as we can in order to survive the coming cold. The elves brought as much usable materials from Lake-town as they could and tomorrow we will begin to fix those homes and buildings nearest the great hall that are stable and intact enough that we can make them safe and warm for living in.”

“And food?” asked a teenager nearby, brown eyes worried.

Bard sighed. It always came back to food. Even in Lake-town they had all worried that there would not be enough food to last the winter and now that worry was doubly so. “I promise you, we will not starve.” Terror closed his throat because Bard was not sure it was a promise he was able to keep but he'd gotten by with little more than stubbornness and luck before.

Muttering ensued. A man, brown hair cropped close to his skull, stepped forward. “Well, your word has always been good before, Bard, and I see no reason not to believe you now.”

“Thanks, Edric,” Bard said. “The important thing,” he continued, “is we keep moving forward. We can get through this if we work together.”

Percy spoke up. “The elves stacked the usable material down in the courtyard. Tomorrow, we'll make teams to assess the buildings and to search for more salvage in the city. Edric, you've got some building experience. Will you help?”

“Aye. I'll help.”

“Do not go off by yourself,” ordered Bard. “Salvage teams must be armed and stay together at all times. There are patrols, day and night, but it isn't a good idea to be unwary.”

“Is the city unsafe?” asked someone.

Bard sighed. “Yes, it is. We're still finding the odd goblin hiding in the ruins.” Alarmed chatter rose and Bard had to yell over them. “Which is why there are patrols and why I don't want anybody going off by themselves. Don't go wandering alone and stay in the populated area around the great hall if you're not part of an armed group.”

“And the food? What if someone tries to steal more?” asked Warwick.

“There will be a guard on the food stores from now on.”

“Elves?” Warwick sneered.

“And men,” snapped Bard. “A Man and an elf will be guarding the food stores from now on. And I must say, anybody caught stealing will be dealt with harshly. I won't have one person putting everyone else at risk. We are all that is left of Lake-town and we will be the ones that rebuild Dale into our new home. We can't be at odds with each other.” He sighed, rolling his shoulders to release the tension from his anger. “Any questions?” The noise rose ten fold. Gods, he was sorry he asked.

The pale winter sun was setting by the time Bard was able to escape the great hall and the endless questions and suggestions the people had for him. He'd promised the children he'd eat dinner with them but first he needed to talk to Thr... Damn, he couldn't talk to Thranduil. He would still be asleep, according to Galion. Galion! Yes, he could talk to Galion. The elf seemed to be the right-hand of the Elvenking anyway.

There were new guards at the Elvenking's tent but they made no move to stop Bard as he entered. The bowman blinked in the dim light and his heart sank as he saw the table where he expected to find the elf empty. He looked over at the alcove with the bed. Galion was perched on the edge of the bed, humming softly and gently stroking the Elvenking's hair. Thranduil had rolled onto his side but was otherwise the same as Bard had last seen him. “Did he have another fit?” Bard asked, worried. The stool was still next to the bed and he sat on it hesitantly.

Galion shook his head, long brown hair slipping over his shoulders. “No. Thranduil sleeps easy. But you look upset. Has something happened?”

Bard blew out a breath. “I'm surprised you don't already know. We've been bumbling around all afternoon.” He caught the flicker of a smile and groaned. “You do know!”

“Shhh,” Galion scolded for the noise. “Yes, I know. You Men underestimate elvish hearing. What I don't know is why you are here?”

Bard shoved both hands into his hair, resting his forehead in his palms with elbows on his knees. He sighed. “I guess I'm just looking for reassurance,” he mumbled.

“Reassurance?”

Bard let his hands drop but did not look up. “That you elves won't disappear tomorrow and leave us to starve or freeze to death this winter. We will not survive by ourselves.” He did not look up at Galion, keeping his tired gaze on a swirl of blanket. There, he's said it; the fear that had settled like a lump in his chest. It was the fear that even if they had survived dragon fire and a battle with orcs, their ragtag little group would be done in by time and nature and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“Ah Lord Bard,” sighed Galion, making the mortal's heart flip. “We will not do so. You are our allies and, I'd like to think, our friends. You and your people will neither starve or freeze in the coming winter, this I promise.”

Air hitched in Bard's chest and he forced himself to breathe through it. He looked up and Galion's brown eyes were kind and understanding. “Thank you,” the mortal said. Between them, Thranduil suddenly muttered something in elvish, hand twitching on the pillow. Galion snorted. “What is it?” Bard asked. “Is he about to have another fit?”

“No, he dreams nonsense. He just asked me to fetch his wife out of the goldfish pond and his son from his nursery because the dancing bears have arrived.”

“His wife?” echoed Bard in surprise. Disappointment surged and was wrestled down.

“Hmm, yes,” Galion replied. “She has left us, unfortunately. Gone to the Halls of Mandos and many years ago at that.”

“I'm sorry for your loss.” Bard looked down at the sleeping Elvenking. “For his loss.”

Galion bowed his head a little. “Míria was a wonderful queen and a loving wife and mother. Her loss darkened Greenwood greatly.” The elf paused and then looked seriously at Bard. “Míria's death pains Thranduil still. I would ask you not to mention such a topic to him.”

“I won't.”

Thranduil murmured again, distracting them from the heavy subject, and Galion's lips curled. “What are you dreaming about, mellon-nín? He is complaining that the rabbits have stolen all his shoes,” he translated for Bard.

Bard grinned. “Sounds serious.”

More grumbling. “And now Feren is to arrest the rabbits and throw them into the cells.” Bard outright laughed at that. Galion shook his head in amusement. “I do not think we're going to get much sense from the king tonight, Lord Bard. Why don't you seek your family? It is the dinner hour and you should spend time with your children.”

“Aye. I told them I'd eat with them this evening, so I best keep my promise or I'll never hear the end of it.” Bard folded his hands around one of Thranduil's, squeezed gently, and stood. “Is it alright if I return in the morning?”

“Aye. My king should be making sense by then.” The pair chuckled and Bard ducked out of the tent and hurried to the old market.

People called greetings to Bard as he entered the huge food tent, busy with men and elves having dinner. “Da!” yelled Tilda over the noise. The elf sitting by her winced at the volume.

Sigrid stood while Bain waved a hand. They were seated along a table that Bard is pretty sure he recognized from one of his Lake-town neighbors. Tables are placed end to end in long lines in the tent, much better than the half-broken junk they had cobbled together before. There were an assortment of chairs, stools, and benches used as seats. Bard muscled his way between his son and younger daughter. Tilda leaned over to hug him awkwardly around the waist. “We were beginning to think you weren't coming,” scolded Sigrid.

“I came as soon as I could,” Bard replied mildly. 

Sigrid sighed and shook her head. “I'll get you a bowl of stew,” she said, getting up and heading toward the back of the tent.

“What did you two do today?”

“Helped clean up rubble,” Bain replied, shoveling food into his mouth. “The area around the great hall is mostly cleared.”

Bard nodded. “I saw. Thank you for helping, Bain.” His son shrugged and Bard looked at his youngest. “How about you, Tilda?”

“Helped Mrs. Della with the little kids. Helped Mr. Gladhedir make some bread.” An unfamiliar elvish name that Bard has no doubt that Tilda is fudging the pronunciation of.

Sigrid came back with a bowl of stew, a hunk of bread, and a battered cup of water. She set it down in front of her father. “We've been helping where we can. Oh, the dwarf healer came. Bullied that dwarf that's been lollygagging in the medical tent up and out. Ordered him back to Erebor with a smack.” She snickered. “He ran out of Dale like the dragon itself was on his tail. Una and Loni are now best friends.”

Bard laughed. “I bet they are.” Hunger gnawed at his stomach and Bard tucked into his food with enthusiasm. The stew was simple but flavored with herbs he was sure the elves had brought with them.

Sigrid leaned in across the table and lowered her voice, “Did you learn anything more about the thief from King Thranduil?” Bain stopped eating, attention caught.

“What?” Bard asked, startled.

“The thief that stole the grain and vegetables? Didn't you speak to King Thranduil about who it could be?” Sigrid replied, confusion coloring her words as her father began to shake his head half way through her sentence.

“King Thranduil is still asleep, Sigrid.”

“Still?” asked Tilda, a worried look tightening her face.

“Yes, but don't be concerned, Tilda. Galion says he's fine, just tired.”

“Then who were you...?”

Bard sighed. “I spoke with Galion, Sigrid. Nobody saw the thief steal the food or anybody acting strangely, so we have no way to tell who it was.”

Sigrid didn't look any less confused. “So, what did you talk to Galion about?”

Bard hesitated. He did not want his children to know about his moment of panic, his fear of being abandoned by the elves and them not surviving the winter without help. “The coming supplies,” he hedged, “and how we are going to protect it. I do not want any more thefts.”

“So, guards?” Bain asked.

“Yes, a man and an elf at all times.”

“The mixed patrols were a good idea,” praised Sigrid.

“Thank you,” Bard said dryly. His daughter grinned cheekily. Bard shook his said and took a bite of his bread. Tilda pressed against his side, wiggling under his arm, and Bard let her close and ate his dinner around her with practiced ease. A group of men and elves rose from a section of tables and headed out of the tent. It was getting late, the winter sun having set hours before, and people were leaving to search out their beds for the night.

The Lake-town refugees were housed in the old great hall. The roof was intact and the fire place big enough to warm the many people gathered there. Bard and his children had been offered a tent from the elves to sleep in and Bard had been so tired and sore that he'd not had the withal to decline. The elf camp was set up in the southwestern portion of the city, the tents placed in the streets in orderly lines. Only Thranduil's tent and the tents holding his personal guard and captains were set in the central area of the city.

Bard yawned over the last bit of his food and rolled his stiff shoulders. He was looking forward to his bed too. So, of course, Percy hurried into the food hall with a harried face and headed toward Bard. “Oh, what now?” demanded Bard shortly.

Percy winced. “A patrol found something you need to take care of,” he said.

“Trouble?”

“Um. Not really? But something needs to be done about it anyway.”

“And that someone needs to be me, why?” Percy shrugged helplessly and then made an impatience gesture. Bard sighed and stood. “Sigrid, see your brother and sister get to bed, alright.”

“Yes, Da.” 

Bard followed Percy out of the tent. Percy met another man holding two lit torches, took one, and then they continued into the dark city. “What happened?” asked Bard.

“A patrol found Alfrid.”

Bard sighed. “So? Take him to the medical tent or get him a meal.”

Percy's face twisted. “He's beyond that.”

They came upon a half crumbled building, the patrol standing around with torches. The men grumbled in the cold while the elves seemed unbothered, their hair gleaming in the torchlight. Bard grimaced as he saw the corpse. “Damn.” Percy looked at him in confusion and Bard shrugged. “I was sort of hoping Alfrid was the food thief, sulking around.” Percy nodded in understanding. It looked like Alfrid had not gotten far after Bard had last seen him during the battle. Bard toed a gold coin, half trampled into the dirt. “Do we have enough supplies for another pyre?” The fires on the field between Dale and Erebor had finally ended that morning.

“Yes.”

“Burn the body. I don't want to give disease a chance to take hold in Dale.” Bard crouched and picked up the gold coin. “Help me collect the money.” The body was taken away and the coins put into a sack. Bard sent the patrol on its way with a word of thanks. He and Percy headed back to the main area of the city. “Alderglass is three days walk south, correct?” Bard asked as they walked.

“Yes. Four if it snows any harder and the road becomes mud,” replied Percy.

“Who would you trust to make such a trip for supplies?”

“Roland, for one. Gregor, for another.” 

Bard nodded in agreement, hand patting at the sack of coins. “Tobias?” he suggested. 

Percy nodded. “Aye, he's a good lad.”

Bard stopped and angled Percy back toward a wall, lowering his voice. “In the morning I will ask the elves if we can borrow a wagon and team of horses. I do not think they will deny us. I mean to send a group down the road with this coin to buy supplies for the winter.”

“A good idea, I agree. Do you think King Thranduil would lend us some warriors? I would be less concerned with a guard.”

“I will ask. Think on items we need and we'll talk again in the morning.”

Percy nodded. “To think, Alfrid was good for something after all,” he said dryly.

Bard snorted mockingly. “Goodnight, Percy.” The other man left to find his bed in the great hall and Bard went to the tent he and his children had been given.

Sigrid looked up from tucking Tilda into a cot when Bard ducked inside. “Everything alright, Da?”

“Yes, everything is fine,” Bard replied, sitting heavily on his cot. He stuffed the bag of coins under the bed. A stout, round stove leaked heat into the tent.

“What happened?” Bain asked with a frown.

Bard sighed. “They found Alfrid's body in the ruins.”

Bain rolled his eyes and laid down on his bed. “No great loss then.” Bard frown at him but didn't say anything.

“Oh!” exclaimed Sigrid, eyeing the bag. “The money that Alfrid had with him...”

“Mmm. It will do us a lot of good this winter. I'm going to send out a group to go south and buy supplies tomorrow.”

“Really? I volunteer!”

“Not a chance, Bain. A group of men and, I'm hoping, elves will go to Alderglass for supplies. We can at least off set the elves' burden of supporting us this winter.”

“Is Thranduil staying all winter?” Tilda asked, eyes wide.

Bard smiled at his younger daughter. “I don't think the king will stay the whole winter but they will be giving us food and other supplies.”

Sigrid chewed her lip, climbing into her own cot. “How will we ever repay them?”

“I don't know,” winced Bard. “But that is a concern for after winter.” He pulled off his coat and tossed it onto a salvaged chair. He bent to unlace his boots. “Go to sleep, you three. We're going to see what buildings around the great hall can be most easily made stable and safe for the winter tomorrow. It will be a lot of work.” 

“Goodnight, Da.”

“Goodnight.” Bard snuffed out the lanterns, leaving just one burning low on a stone in the center of the tent. He pulled off his clothing, prodding at the wound on his thigh. The bandage was lightly speckled with blood but the wound was merely sore. He'd get it seen to in the morning. He sat again on his cot and paused as a faint sound rose outside. Singing, from the melody of it. The singing grew louder, drifting gently over Dale. Bard laid down, pulling his blanket up.

Sigrid picked her head up off her pillow. “The elves,” she muttered. She looked at her father. “What are they singing about?”

The light and clear voices of the Eldar people sang in their own language and Bard shook his head. “I don't know. Something sad, from the sound of it.” He shivered but not from the lingering winter chill on his skin.

“A lament, I would think,” said Sigrid. She laid her head back down. “It's still beautiful,” she whispered in slight awe.

Bard hummed in faint acknowledgment, eyes drooping. He fell asleep to the soft singing of the elves.


End file.
